Dear Starbucks

Over the years, I’ve maintained a series of fairly regular relationships: There’s Caramel Apple Cider, Peppermint Hot Chocolate, the occasional Latte (I’m not a big coffee person, myself). Sometimes, these relationships escalate to daily commitments. Other times, these dates may only happen a few times in a week. These are nice moments.

And then there’s my mistress, Chantico.

She is a rich, chocolate indulgence. 20 minutes with her is a mind blowing 20 minutes of my life. I’ve found no other in the world like her (with the exception of a brief fling I had at Angelina’s in Paris). She is chocolate mousse in a world of pedestrian puddings. She is the stuff that launches a thousand ships. The beauty that inspires masterful sonnets.

She is not of an age, but for all time. And as a mere mortal, I could never have a relationship with her, like I do the other flavors in my life. What I can do, is count on her to be there when I need her. She is my rare, infrequent escape from the distractions of life.

And she is too rich for our indulgent ways. But, that is the beauty of Chantico. She is not like all the other flavors. She is quality, in a world that wants quantity. She is a shining star, bright against a sea of darkness. She is a holiday, made precious against the backdrop of our daily routine. And she is misunderstood. She has nothing to do our daily routines. She stands apart, waiting. Ready when she is needed.

And now I hear she may be going away. Why? Because she didn’t develop the same relationships as her comrades. Because she doesn’t bend and sway to our ways. And for that, she is being removed? Because she could be no less than exceptional?

Please, please don’t keep me from my Chantico.